Dedication
by Frayed at the Edges
Summary: AU:On the eve of their prom, Tommy Quincy vanished, resurfacing when his song Losingabout his and Jude's first sexual experienceshot to the top of the billboard charts. And the hits kept coming, each more personal than the one before.Now Jude gets her cha
1. Prologue

Okay, so here's a new story from me called Dedication...now the thing with this story, is that it's based off an actual book called Dedication by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. It's my favorite book and as I read it, realized it would be perfect as a Jommy story. I do not own any rights to Instant Star nor the book, but I have switched some names around and characters. It's a lot like the book, however, I have changed some dialogue and other things around throughout the story, the ending is also different, so if you've read the book, don't expect the same ending!

Things you need to know: Sadie is NOT Jude's sister, but her best friend. Tommy is Jude's age. Jude is a producer at 30, never was a rockstar... They all went to school together, other characters will play out as the story goes, heres the summary: 

_Jude Harrison's ex-boyfriend's face plasters the newsstands and TV, the Internet, and the multiplex. Tommy Quincy is one of the biggest recording stars on the planet...and every song he's famous for is about Jude. For over a decade his soundtrack has chased her--from the gym to the supermarket, from teh dentist's office to the bars. Now 30 yr old Jude gets the call that Tommy has finally landed back in their Ontario hometown of Toronto for an MTV special. The moment she has been waiting for has arrived.  
On the eve of their prom, Tommy Quincy vanished, resurfacing when his song "Losing"--about his and Jude's first sexual experience--shot to the top of the billboard charts. And the hits kept coming, each more personal than the one before.  
Now Jude gets her chance to confront Tommy and reclaim her past. But after eleven years of enduring protracted and far from private heartbreak, everyone in Jude's life has a stake in how this plays out. Jude must risk betraying the friends Tommy has abandoned, the bandmates whose songs he plundered, and her own parents, who fear this will dredge up a shared past more painful than any of them want to acknowledge. But after getting the call in the night and jumping on a plane, can she turn back now?_


	2. Midnight calls and yoga pants

**CHAPTER 1**

**DECEMBER 22, 2019**

"He's here."

"Sadie?" I ask into the phone, disoriented, voice heavy with sleep.

"Jude."

"Hmm, yeah," I murmur, my head sinking, pushing the phone deeper into the pillow.

"_He's here,_" she repeats, "In Toronto."

Her words register and my eyes fly open. I sit up hastily.

"Awake now?" Sadie inquires.

"Yes." I look over to my bedside table, tilting up straighter to see over the stack of books. The glowing numbers on the clock read 4:43 a.m. "How…"

"Devon's been throwing up, some kind of stomach flu slash candy cane binge with the baby-sitter. I look out the bathroom window and his mother's house is lit up like Disney World, called the sheriff's office and they confirmed it. He's here. He's _here_, Jude."

I fling off the duvet. "I'm coming," I announce without a second thought. Dropping the cordless receiver on the nightstand, I swing both feet to the smooth wood floor of my bedroom.

He's here….or rather there. Tommy Quincy. Of course it's not three p.m on a Saturday. Of course you reappear in the middle of the night like some nocturnal blood leech.

My adrenaline surges. Grabbing my yoga pants from a chair, I pull them on under my might slip, and tug the little black cardigan from the doorknob. Throwing open the closet doors, I stand on tiptoe, fingernails catching the edge of my suitcase handle just enough to avalanche it off the shelf. I fling it open, an anxiety-dream sweat dampening the silk of my slip. Only I'm awake. And Sadie's flare finally hovers in the night sky over the snowy hills of our hometown.

Indignation fuels the whipping open of drawers, fistfuls of underwear, T-shirts, and pajamas filling the case, my mind moving ahead to the important items--skinny jeans, date sweater, dangly earrings--the heels that knock me up to five-nine. The two zipper toggles collide and I shove my brass travel lock through the holes.

Rolling down the hall I push my feet into my sneakers, yank my trench from its hook, open the front door to the cricket quiet of my suburban street, and reach into my pocket for the keys…shit, my purse. I whirl in the dark apartment, spotting it hidden behind my laptop, boxes of unwritten Christmas cards, and rolls of wrapping paper on the kitchen table. I flick on the light switch to keep from stumbling over anything as I make my way into the kitchen, and am startled by the jarring brightness. But, oh, this is good, yes, okay, good, light helps. Okay, reality check. I take in my reflection in the kitchen window, face creased from sleep, eyes puffed from deprivation of the same, blonde hair tangled from passing out in forgotten ponytail holder.

This is insane.

I turn the light back off, shut the front door, stalk back to the bedroom, and flop onto the bed. Wrapping myself in the warm blanket, I let my keys fall from my grip. I will the adrenaline away, will back the peaceful dead to the world repose I was beneath just moments ago.

Sleep, Jude. Go back…to sleep. You've been working non-stop, the new artists first album coming to an end, the 24 hour round trip to New York. This bed was all you could think of. Aren't you comfortable? And relaxed? Living your life? Sleeping in your bed? Isn't nice to be an adult…who can get into her own bed…in her own apartment…and go to sleep…on her own timing. My pulse deepens. And not be reduced to some stupid…knee-jerk…adolescent…obsessive…lunatic behavior…just because Tommy's finally shown up---finally shown up---

I sit up. Breathless.

And within minutes find myself flying along I 90, counting off the exits to the Los Angeles airport.

I pull the suitcase from the backseat lock the Prius, glancing at the LONG-TERM PARKING sign. I ignore the implications. This is a swing though, that's all. A two thousand mile swing through.

The sky still black behind me, I pass between the sliding glass doors into a brick-walled through of canned air and canned music. The lone ticket agent, wearing three-step eyes and impressively pronounced lipstick for predawn, smiles in greeting. "Checking in?" she asks, all too chipper. I blink at the crimson foil poinsettia pinned to her uniform. "Checking in?" she repeats.

"Yes?" I answer uncertainly. Not quite decided on whether this was the right thing to do.

She looks at me inquisitively as I look at her inquisitively. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I breathe, "Yes. I'm going to Toronto, Ontario. I'll take whatever you have," I answer dropping my purse on the counter.

"Can I see your I.D?"

I flip open my wallet and slide it over. She glances at it momentarily, "And ticket?"

"Actually I don't have one, but I need to get on the first flight I can. What do you have?

As she taps on the keyboard gently, I watch her stare intently at the obscured screen, all the possible routes back to _him_. "Well, let's see, there _is_ one seat left on the commuter Chicago, then a two hour layover which will take you to Madison by three and then another layover…"

"Is that really the earliest I can get there?" I life my wheelie suitcase onto the metal scale.

She tears the outdated baggage tag from the handle. "Two days before Christmas…yes."

"Right. Great. Thank you."

"If the weather cooperates, you should be outside of Toronto by six p.m." Almost twelve hours from now. Rock on.

I grab my ticket and make my way to the right gate, wishing for a Starbucks, but settling for a man selling the bare basics from a brown Formica cart.

I take a seat in row thirteen with a bruised banana and large black coffee. Nestling against the plastic wallpaper, I let my hair down and my eye lids droop shut, blocking out the noise of everyone around me…

The captain's voice announcing the possibility of slight turbulence causes me snap awake. I check to make sure I'm still buckled in. My gaze shifts to the right and locks with the headline of my seatmate's _US Weekly. _"First photos ever! Tom Quincy and Eden Miller spotted ring shopping in St. Bart's . Is it WEDDING BELLS?" We hit an air pocket and the plane drops, my stomach lurching.

I'm finally almost there, the captain announces we are beginning the descent to the Toronto airport. I peer out the window, but the black seems thick and impermeable. Then the clouds clear the full moon, the snow-covered fields suddenly gleaming as if lit by a flashbulb. I rub my eyes as the wheels touch down.

A chapped-cheeked luggage handler emerges through the plastic flaps from the tarmac, pulling the laden metal cart behind him. He deposits its contents before us, and immediately there's a flurry of grabbing hands, the snapping of handles extending, as my fellow passengers take what's theirs and go. I stare for a moment in disbelief at the empty trolly. Shit.

"Sir?" I make a beeline to where the man is checking off arriving flights on a clipboard. "Is that all the bags?"

"Sorry ma'am, there're baggage delays coming out of Madison. If yours isn't there, check with Velma at the desk. She can help you fill out a report.

I drop my head. "Thank you." Could things get any better?

As Velma and I fill our the forms, she repeatedly promises with a big smile that they will bring my little rolling bag to my door _the minute_ it arrives in Toronto, _the minute_. Only, she concludes brusquely, as she taps the layers of forms neatly back together on the countertop, it's Christmas and she can't make any promises. I nod, heaving my purse onto my shoulder, the realization sinking in that I'm going to be trying to make someone regret his entire existence in yoga pants….

I walk to the sliding glass doors and---ohfuckohfuckohfuck---run through the snowdrifts in my sneakers to the few waiting taxis, the mufflers steaming. I slam the door shut behind me with a rusty squeak. "Hi, I'm going to 228 Eastland Drive, Toronto, please."

The cab driver nods, his cigarette resting on his lip as he shifts into drive.

My body erupts in shivers as I sit on the ripped vinyl seat. "Sir?" I flap the clammy Lycra hems away from my bare ankles. "Would you mind rolling up the window?"

He flicks the glowing butt onto the road as he reaches for the circular end of the handle. "Didn't think it was gonna be snowing?"

I huddle against the maroon vinyl, tucking my legs up under me in effort to warm the damp fabric. "I didn't think it was going to be December," I whisper, gazing out of the back window.


	3. 6th Grade

**CHAPTER 2**

**SIXTH GRADE**

Mom's right hand grips the gearshift, her knuckles pulsing above Grandma's cameo ring. She leans forward to peer through the windshield at the clouds rolling across the lightening sky. "Looks like it might rain."

"Parka and umbrella are in the trunk," Dad says from the backseat, his patience teetering with our dawdling.

I stare out the windshield at the empty lot, beyond rows or extra-long parking spaces for the buses en route with my new classmates, to the beige brick two-story complex that is Carson Hill Middle and High School. "It's just _huge_," I repeat for the billionth time since she took me on a tour of the carpeted hallways linking room after empty-desked room of a whole new life.

Turning from the hulking structure, she really looks at me for the first time since the alarm clocks set us running in circles, and I feel the fear break in my eyes. Her face momma birds. "You're going to love it here Jude, I promise."

I shrug, not knowing whether to believe her or not. How could I possibly love being ripped away from the friends I had known the whole 11 years of my life? So far, it seemed rather unfair.

"Yes. You're all going to love. It's heaven, it's nirvana, it's the single greatest public school in the world. I regret not taking the job here already. Now, Victoria, Principal Victoria." Dad pull himself forward with out headrests and squeezes her shoulder gently. "You'll do great. Now, It's an hour drive to Fayville. My interview's at eight. You _have _to get out of the car. See there, your first charges are arriving."

I follow Dad's line of sight and see the yellow bus pulling into the parking lot. "Tomorrow I'm taking the bus and getting up at a normal hour, right?" I ask again, hating that I couldn't have done this First Day thing on my own, knowing that if I was on a bust right now, I'd have seen their faces, maybe already be talking to someone.

Mom nods in answer and flips the visor down to glance at herself in the mirror once more. After checking her teeth, she flips it back up, "Ready?"

"Ready," I confirm, heart galloping.

My parents exchange a kiss and I emerge from the car into the humidity of summer's end. Grasping the strap of my backpack tightly, I silently pray things will work out.

"Indian hop! _Indian hop!_" The gym teacher hollers into the chlorinated air. He jumps from one slimy floor tile to the next at the edge of the pool, pointing at random students, continuing his tirade. I stare up at him, still immobile from the shock of being plunged in icy water when an unseasonably early freak snow is covering most of the pool building's windows.

"You," He bends down, his read face leaning in.

"Jude," I offer eagerly, hoping he's about to acknowledge I'm turning blue and should get out and into a warm towel immediately.

"Jude! Let's see you MOVE!" He extends his hairy arm over the shallow end like a 700 Club guy, blessing the other sixth graders who are chopping through the water with varying success, depending on where they are in their growth spurts. I smile weakly. "Come ON! No one's leaving this gym class until every single one of you has crossed this pool at least eight times, and I'm not giving late passes! Now HOP!"

"I'd like to strip him naked, stick him in a block of ice, and see him hop."

I turn to the wry voice coming from my left, where a girl in a very pretty pink swimsuit is gingerly holding her blonde French braids above the water.

"This _can't_ be legal," I agree.

"This _can't_ be liquid," she matches me, "Sadie Heller."

"Jude Harrison." Exactly the same height, we have pruned fingers over the splashing swell.

"You just moved her right?" She asks, trying to knot the long braids on top of her head.

"Yup." The drumbeat of longing for the familiarity of Montreal. "In July actually."

"I DON'T SEE YOU HOPPING!"

"Well, Welcome to Toronto." With a grimace, Sadie carefully lets her goose bumped elbows drop beneath the surface. "We also have a…" Suddenly we're blinded as two boys slap the water hard in our direction, drenching us both.

"Nice nipples," they chuckle. Immature boys…

"You're so lame!" Sadie shouts, slamming them back.

"_Sadie!"_ The gym teacher barks. "_Less talking, more hopping!"_

Eyes narrowed to slits, Sadie surrenders her golden platis to the sloshing current and raises her fist in the air.

I throw mine up in solidarity. "Okay, on two!"

"Gimme." Moving a stack of magazines, Sadie takes the snack tray and set it down on the coffee table in front of us in the Heller living room. Sliding onto the beige carpet, she grabs the remote and presses the worn power button. I lower myself beside her to Indian style, unsure whether or not to sprawl. "So you've _never_ watched _Days of Our Lives_?" She asks again .

"My best friend, Kat, in Montreal, has MTV. So we pretty much only watch that---" I stop speaking when her phone rings atop the nearby stereo.

Sadie reaches over me to answer it, "Hello?" After only a moment, she harshly slams the receiver back onto its stand and pulls a cushion into her lap, squeezes it, and stares off at the TV, not seeming to see the screen.

"So," I begin, unsure what just happened, nodding as if we're min-conversation. "Um…so Kat, in Montreal, her aunt watches soaps all day…"I trail off as Sadie twists to me. "What?" I ask, my new-girl antennae snapping to attention.

"You talk about Montreal like you're still there."

"I do?" My eyes lower to the carpet unsure of how to take that.

"It must be hard to be stuck here in the middle of nowhere," she says testily.

"Montreal's not so great," I rush, aiming to sound like I believe it. "I love to skate, and they just closed the rink down. And my new room here is, like, twice the size of my old one--you should come over," I finish, lifting my coke to take a long nervous gulp.

Suddenly the phone rings again. "Want me to get that?" I offer. But she just hugs the pillow to her chest. The ringing stops. "Sadie? Is something wrong?"

She looks at me for a long minute, her finger absently twirling a loose fringe thread. "Karma Matheson and I were best friends until she stopped talking to me at the end of last year."

"Why?" I put my coke down on the coffee table. "Why'd she just stop talking to you?"

"I don't know," she says quietly, taking an Oreo from its package and slowly twisting the top off, "Her parents got divorced last year. Are your parents still married?"

"Yes," I answer, realizing I'd never been asked that before, darkly wondering what I would do if, like Karma, the answer suddenly changed.

"Mine too. Anyway, it was really bad and when she found out she was going to at camp with Portia, she got totally obsessed with being popular and was, like trying to devise ways to break into that clique."

"But you're popular."

"Not like Portia Mills and those girls." She licks the creamy middle of her cookie. "The boys all like them. No big whup. The whole thing's stupid."

"I'm sorry. That must have really…"

She finally meets my eyes. "It did, It really did." She sinks her chin into the pillow. "So were you at the top at your old school?"

"What?" I ask, cheeks reddening.

"I don't know," she slopes her head to the side and lowers her lids at me. "Patsy Sewer said you looked like Alicia Silverstone."

"Oh my God, thanks. But my school was so small. People hate…sorry, hated, past tense, people and loved people every other day, but it was like one or two were popular, not a whole football team. Here's a lot more complicated."

Sadie nods in agreement and goes to grab another cookie, when the phone rings again. She freezes. I freeze. "It's her," Sadie's voice drops. "Them."

"What, they just call and hang up?" I drop mine, too, as I instantly feel like they're standing over us.

"I think Portia makes her do it as a test. They scream stuff."

"You're kidding."

She shakes her head, looking so scared that I can't take it anymore. I reach up and grab the receiver. "Hello?"

"_Sadie's a bitch!"_ I hear giggles. Mean ones.

"I'm sorry," The wrongness of it raises me to my knees and summons Mom's most principal-like tone. "Sadie can't come to the phone right now. She's busy thinking about thow little of a crap she could give. Have a pleasant evening." I hang up.

Sadie stares at me, a huge smile spreading across her face, "_Crap_, I like it."

"_Shit_ was overhitting it."

"I do agree." She twists apart another cookie.

"Thanks." I drop back to the base of the couch, sprawling beside her.

Sadie can't stop grinning, "Hey want to be my partner on that Social Studies project? I think we have to say who we're working with by Friday."

"Sure," I mellow my answer, despite the cartwheel I feel at finding out that I found someone who still wants to be friends with me on October 22, when the Renaissance binders are due.

"Whad'ya mean, you don't like anybody? Everybody likes somebody," _the _Portia Mills states as if I've just challenged the Swatch. "Everybody." She pulls her headband off, shakes out her dark curly hair, and slides it back on.

"It's true. That's how it works," Sadie confirms form where she slumps on the other side of me against the gymnasium bleachers; Sadie and I have a pact to get out of whatever sport is being inflicted upon us immediately. Not a huge feat when it comes to dodge ball.

"Didn't you like somebody at your old school?" Karma leans around Portia. Sadie rolls her eyes. "What? I can't talk to her?"

"Like I care." Sadie re-smoothes her new bangs, which were supposed to make her look more glamorous, but so far all they seem to do is annoy her.

"So?" Portia persists, exasperation etched across her features.

"Yeah, of course." I aim for a carefree shrug. "I just, you know, haven't met that many boys here yet, so…who do you like?"

"Kyle Conchlin," AshleyOne volunteers from where she's pulling at her stacked rubber bracelets, "and Karma likes Walley Mosley."

"His brother just moved to New York. To be a _dancer_," Portia whispers, holding her splayed manicure at the corner of her mouth.

"He's having a really hard time with it," Karma confirms. "I wrote him a note. He wrote back. We've been writing," she says as if they've been sharing a toothbrush.

AshleyOne continues, "So, AshleyTwo likes Jamie Andrews, Patsy Sewer likes Vincent Speiderman…" She goes down the whole line of girls chatting along the bleachers as balls thud loudly off the walls and occasionally off the stomachs and groins of the boys trying to hold out on the court.

I check the clock above the scoreboard and see if I'll be able to get out of here before coming up with a name, buy myself some time of Thanksgiving break to do proper research.

"So who?" Karma leans in and I can smell the tacos from lunch. "Come on, whisper."

I scan the contenders---survivors hurling rubber balls at each other with the focus of gladiators, and the downed and wounded nursing of their egos.

"Come on, kiss it! You know you want to kiss my butt!" The butt in question is shaken tauntingly.

"Yeah! Kiss his butt! Butt kisser!"

"You do have to like someone," Sadie urges. _Really?_, I think, continuing to survey my options.

"Someone," one of the Ashleys echoes.

"Johnathon Taylor Thomas?"

"IN SCHOOL!" They chorus.

"If he's been on the cover of J14, he doesn't count," Portia scolds, readjusting her hair once again.

"Okay, okay."

Portia runs her fingers through her hair and then pauses, as a new thought occurs to her. "You're not a lesi, are you? I hear there's a lot in Montreal."

My eyed widen in shock. What the hell?

"_Well?"_

My eyes land on a scrawny kid with floppy brown hair absentmindedly hugging a ball to his chest. He bobs his head and appears to be…whistling.

"That guy," I nod toward him, "the one with the Beatles logo on his gym shirt."

"Tommy Quincy?" Who?

"Yeah, okay, uh, Tommy Quincy. I like him."

Sadie pats my arm approvingly.

"No one's ever liked _him_ before." Karma sneers. Portia and the other girls stare at him for a moment, as if they're seeing him for the first time.

"That's GAME!" The teachers throws his meaty hands toward the locker rooms. Tommy Quincy, apparently in his own whistling world, doesn't hear him.

"Well," I stand and dust grime off my shorts with the rest of the girls, "that's who I like."


	4. The MOMENT

**CHAPTER 3**

**DECEMBER 22, 2019**

Antsy, I lean forward in the cab, peering up through the frosted glass as we pull into my parents' now snow-covered driveway, the headlights illuminating the colonial's façade. I knew they painted the shingles yellow last year, but part of me is still shocked at the change, as though time should have stopped of deference to my absence.

The driver tells me the cab fare and as I reach across the seat to where my messenger bag has tipped and lodged on the floor behind the driver, I catch sight of realty sign sticking out of the snow. I squint in the near darkness to make out a rectangular FOR SALE placard lodged in the top of the drift. Excuse me?

"Miss?"

"Right…" I rummage in my wallet while replaying the last months of phone calls to pinpoint where I might have missed that the house was for sale. "Thanks." I pass him my remaining ash and reach for the handle, looking out to the black branches of the towering Chinese maple they planted the day I graduated Carson Hill Middle. That someone _else's_ grandchildren will apparently be swinging on.

"Miss you don't want change?"

"Sorry? No, keep it. Merry Christmas."

"Hey, you, too."

I release the door handle, a lash of icy wind blowing against me as I swing my legs outside, the snow enveloping my feet, the fabric immediately soaking through, drenching my socks. "Hah! Hah! Hah!" I bleat as I run for the house, flashing o myself racing brazenly out to collect the mail barefoot at an age when being impervious to the winter was a sign of social cool.

Pulling my old house key out of my purse, I let myself in through the front door. Slamming the door behind me, I rest my bag down and kick off the wet sneakers, crouching to squeeze warmth into my bare toes. Flipping on the lights, I automatically turn the thermostat dial up to a reckless sixty-five degrees, disbelieving that despite being well paid educators, they still regard heat and electricity as special treats. The furnace clanks to life one floor below, joining the steady tock of the wall clock and I hug my arms to my chest, trying to land here, trying to anchor, trying to get a grip on the fact that our house is sold. I reach under my slip to peel my wet yoga pants off and hang them on the hat rack.

I glance beside it expecting to see my presence still tucked among Dad's collection of his favorite hockey team caps. But on the cream paint, there is only the dark outline of where the hall mirror should hang. I look to the stairs, where more rectangular smudges mark the places of the seed catalog illustrations I helped Dad hang when we first moved in. My stomach sinking, I pass the door to the dining room, coming to an abrupt halt when I see Granny Lynn's walnut table gone, the oriental rug rolled along the wall, and the floor littered with boxes of bubble-wrapped pictures. I twist up the dimmer, letting the power chandelier cast a glare on the bare walls.

Bracing myself, I step into the den, afraid to find it barren like the front hall, but find it thankfully unchanged. Grabbing the quilt at the edge of the couch, I nestle into the overstuffed blue couch. The clock chimes for seven o'clock. The refrigerator hums faintly from the kitchen. Unable to snap out of the morbid frenzy I've worked myself into, I reach for the phone to call Sadie.

"Helwo?"

"Devon?" I ask, winding the cord around my finger, unsure which of her twins has answered. "Damian? Is that you?"

"Helwo?" The three-year old voice repeats. "I'm Damian. Devon's frosting."

"This is your Godmother Jude…"

"Fairy Godmother!"

"Hi, Damian. Is your brother better?"

"He pwuked. It was Christmas colored. But it didn't smell wike Christmas."

Grinning, I tuck the quilt around my bare feet. "I heard. Is Mommy there…"

"Jude?" Sadie grabs the phone from her son.

"Word is you're frosting?"

"We're making holiday cookies," her voice drops to a conspiratorial level, "you're here?"

"Tah-dah," I say with false enthusiasm, "I took the first flight. Did you know they sold the house?" I rise up onto my knees.

"They sold the house!?"

"Uh-huh. My parents sold the house," I say slowly so I can hear it, too.

"You're _kidding_," her incredulity soothing as always. "I didn't even know it was on the market. Where are they moving to?"

"I have no idea! There're boxes everywhere. It's so creepy. So…"

"Completely irrelevant at this moment. Did you really fly all the way here so we can discuss real estate and shirk the long-distance fees? Turn on your TV, my friend. It's the second coming."

I reach for the remote, its batteries still held in place with masking tap. "What channel?"

"Every channel. Start with E!"

I flip to a woman in pink wool coat standing on our Main street under a banner that proclaims WELCOME HOME TOM!

I taste bile rising in my throat as I exclaim, "You must be fucking kidding me!"

"You didn't see it?" Sadie asks.

"We didn't come through town, the cab took the back roads."

"Well, they've erected a statue of him made out of Span, covered Main Street in one long red carpet that runs all the way to hi s bedroom, the mayor has declared this National Tom Quincy day, and twelve vestal virgins will be blowing him at tonight's Christmas pageant. This town--has gone--insane…Jude? You there?"

I shake my head incredulous.

"Jude?"

My jaw agape, I click through the news channels, all of which show some pastel-coated blonde trying to blink against the snow while locals bounce up and down with HI, MOM! Signs in the background as if outside the _Today_ show.

"Multiplatinum recording star Tom Quincy has just announced…"

"In, of all places, his hometown…"

"His engagement to international recording superstar, Eden Miller…"

"MTV sat down with Tommy six months ago…"

"E! will be bringing you live coverage as the story unfolds…"

"Some cynics have noted the announcement of this relationship dovetails conveniently with the pending release of her first film and his greatest hits album…"

"Here at CNN we are all very happy for him and wish the couple a very Merry Christmas indeed…"

"Some say this is just the tip of the love iceberg…" comes through the receiver in stereo.

I shut if off. "Fuck."

"Do you think it was a _love_ iceberg that sank the Titanic?" Sadie quips and I hear the tin clang of a baking sheet hitting the floor and the twins "uh-oh"ing in chorus," Gotta go, stay strong. The Moment has arrived Jude…The Moment."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I click the screen back to life, the town center just a few hundred yards outside the picture window falling under siege as I fire through the channels…

"Tom Quincy…"

"Tom Quincy…"

"Tom Quincy…"

"Hello?" Mom calls out, her voice apprehensive, "JUDE!"

"Hey, I'm in here," I bellow from my snug spot on the sofa.

"No," I hear her huff, swinging into the doorway still wearing her coat and her pale cheeks flushed. "Damn it. I knew it. I just knew it. Who told you? I wasn't going to tell you. Sadie. Sadie told you…"

Ready since I boarded the first plane, I stand clasping the blanket around my shoulders, I begin, "Mom, you could've put every resident of Toronto under a gag order and I'll still be at the gym in L.A right now getting a blow by blow from Anderson Cooper."

"You're kidding," She breathes, pivoting on her heels and stares at the screen as I click though channels as proof, "the world's gone mad." Mom snatches the remote from me and harshly turns it off.

Indignity flickers like a lit filament through my jaw. "And what about you two?" I point accusingly through the door to the stripped walls, "why haven't you said anything to me about the house?"

Unbuttoning her coats, she looks to the ground, "We didn't want to tell you over the phone. Sheesh, it's hot in here…we thought we'd wait until we were all at the beach."

"Okay, that's one way of doing it…but where are you moving to?"

"Oh Jude, the realtor said it will take a few months….your father's left his job at the library…"

"He's what?!" 

"He's done. He needs a change of scenery," Mom lifts her shoulders, her characteristic move to summon positivity, "so I just do a little bit of packing every weekend, it helps me adjust to the idea."

"Of what!" I cock my head, unable to imagine them anywhere but here, doing anything else but what they do.

Did.

"Daytona. We're going to move to the condo for a year and then see what we feel like doing after. Dad needs a break from the snow," she gives me a wan smile, "and I'm adjusting."

"Adjusting?" I ask, low panic bubbling inside of me.

"I'm retiring at the end of the next semester."

"…Retiring."

"So!" She sheers, "we're going to sit on the beach and figure it out."

I spin to the doorway as I hear Dad stomp off his snow boots in the front hall. "Stuart! In here," Mom calls, "with your daughter!"

"Jude?" He rounds the corner, the eyes I inherited from him lighting up, "oh my god, Jude." I let him wrap me in a hug while I inhale the scent of ink-stained cuffs and newsprint. I stifle my questions, knowing any direct inquiry will only be met with infuriating redirects. He pulls back, holding my arms, "well let me look at you." Given the recent news, I too study him in return, the attuned expression, meticulous shave…

"Yes," Mom puts her hands on our huddle and pushes us toward the door with a renewed purpose. "She can drive and you can look at the whole way to the airport."

"Mom!" I hiss.

"Don't 'Mom' me. You are getting on the next flight to anywhere and we will see you as planned in Daytona on Friday for our vacation."

"No," I refuse, finally throwing the blanket off my shoulders, "THIS is The Moment. This is it."

"He's not worth it," she tugs at her cashmere scarf, "it's a hundred degrees in here! Stuart, open a window please."

"I know he's not worth it," I softly say, pulling of her knit hat and handing it to her. "Believe me. I know that."

"In that flew two thousand miles in your nightie sort of way," Dad snorts, shaking his head gently.

"THIS is my Alamo. I've waited _thirteen _years to have the home turf advantage."

"You have not been _waiting_ for anything," Mom retorts, picking at a thread on her shirt, "You have a very happy, successful…"

"Yes," I concur as the chant _TomQuincyTomQuincyTomQuincy_ resumes in the background. "The point is that The Moment has arrived.

Dad stands there, quietly whistling Christmas tunes as Mom and I argue back and forth. Suddenly Mom snaps, "STUART! WILL YOU PLEASE STOP FOR A MINUTE!"

Dad instantly stops and looks between the two of us before patting his pockets in search of his wallet, "Right, then. I'm going to get a tree. It's obvious Jude is here to stay, when I get back I expect you two to have come to some sort of consensus on the plan of action here." Smiling, he lightly squeezes Mom's nose between his knuckles as he passes in front of her.

Mom swiftly crosses to me, "You can't do this," her voice an urgent hush.

"Uh, three flights and two layovers says I can."

"Don't be glib," She takes my arm, "you can't do this now, not now."

"What, should I just tell him to come back at a better time? When it's convenient for you?"

"This is your family, Judith. You're putting your family at risk." Her audacity renders me speechless. "Judith."

"_I'm_ putting the family at risk?" I manage to yank my arm free of her constraint before yelling past her, "Dad, we don't need a tree!" He returns to the doorway, "And we most definitely don't need a consensus." I keep Mom's shocked face out of my visual periphery. "This is going to take twenty minutes. Tops. I just need to swing by there and make him regret his entire existence. I'll be back in time for dinner, catch the first flight back to L.A in the morning, and we'll all be drinking Mai Tais in Florida by Friday?" Dad retreats toward the living room as I begin to add, "Where I will give you a speech as to why retiring and selling the house with no real plan makes you both…"

"His entire existence?" Shirking my indictment, Dad interrupts as he comes back in the hall with a hanger and Mom's coat. "In twenty minutes?"

"And that still leaves me nineteen for a stroll home," I reflexively surrender to his pressingly lighter attitude. "Have you seen Tommy Quincy's existence?"

"I'm sure MSNBC will be doing a two-hour feature of it at nince," Mom stalks over to the window and sticks her head out to get a breath of fresh air.

"I'm going to go upstairs to change," I move toward the stairs reaching down to pick my purse off of the floor.

"Why not run over like that, looking as deranged as this idea," she hollers after me.

"Thanks," I call back flatly as I raise my purse, "I appreciate the moral support. I'll be sure to return the favor as you sketch out the next thirty years of your lives with a seashell."

I stand, waiting for them to round the corner, defend themselves, make their argument, go there…

But instead I just hear the click of the TV turning on and the volume swelling, drowning out my voice.


	5. 7th Grade

**CHAPTER 4**

**SEVENTH GRADE 2000-2001**

I lift the brittle ends of my hair to my nose, nauseated by the sweet stench of Salon Selectives I've sprayed, squirted and squeezed over the last two hours of alternating crimping and curling with Patsy Sewer's mother's beauty supplies. "My hair is broom star," I mutter to Sadie as she listlessly raises and lowers the trays of the professional expanding makeup box at this slumberless slumber party.

"What time is it even?" She asks, dropping a tube of liquid eyeliner onto the counter of the basement bathroom Mrs. Sewer has rigged as her salon. "It's so bright in here it could be lunchtime." Sadie squints against the glare from the baseball-shaped bulbs framing the mirror, as if this were a Hollywood dressing room and Mrs. Sewer doesn't primp wedged between a dented Maytag and badly burnt ironing board.

AshleyTwo wipes off yet another shade of lipstick and glances at her wrist watch, "Two forty."

"Two forty a.m?" Sadie asks as a wave of exhaustion breaks over the pizza, caramel corn, Coke, and birthday cake making a gushy mess in my stomach.

"Yup," she nods, two curlers flapping across her face.

"The movie has to be done now," I flick the OFF buttons on the heating devices that have been keeping us not wanting to watch the next installment of 'I Know What You Did Last Summer' or examine Mr. Sewer's _Playboy_ stash…again…entertained.

All of a sudden EJ Lee pushes the door open, bouncing in her long T-shirt, knees pressed together. "Movemovemove, I've gotta pee!" The sound of chain saw revving slips in behind her before she's able to shut the door and runs for the bathroom at the end of the room.

"Is the movie almost done?" Sadie asks, wilting. She rubs her Cleopatra eyes.

"Oops." I point to the black football player streaks. "Bad move there Bubba."

She wearily raises her index fingers and takes in their smudged tips, "Crap."

"Ooh, gross!" EJ groans, "Patsy's dad's like, underwear is hanging up in here. Gross," she repeats over the flushing toilet.

"He moved out and left his underwear?" Sadie asks, as EJ opens the door, "That's so weird. Don't you guys think it's so weird?"

While Georgia heads toward the mirror, Sadie holds open the door so AshleyTwo and I can squeeze into the bathroom with her. Sure enough, on a white plastic rack over the sink hang five pairs of Hanes boxers…dried stiff.

"C'mon guys," AshleyTwo backs out and starts putting everything away, "We better get this cleaned up or she'll spaz."

"Did Patsy know?" EJ suddenly asks and AshleyTwo, self-appointed guardian of Patsy, pauses. "How? What was the sign?"

"Her parents fought…all the time," AshleyTwo whispers just as the doors reopen, the sound of someone mid-slaughter reaching our ears and we all turn toward to see a Dunkman twin heading for the bathroom.

Suddenly we here quiet hushes and the TV is turned off. Stumbling over each other we head out toward the rest of the girls, stepping over the other snoring Dunkman twin to find the birthday party in some kind of standoff in front of the sliding door to the yard. Fully dressed in their identical flared jeans, and perfect cutesy T-shirts, Portia and her friends have their backs to the glass.

"So are you staying?" Portia asks matter-of-factly as she swipes on a coat of lip gloss before passing it to her friends. Karma opens her mouth, but is at a terrified loss. She looks from Portia to Patsy.

"Spaz," one of Portia's followers gets haughty, "We're just meeting the boys at the falls to have a smoke, it's not like we're having and orgy."

Portia cracks up.

"Seriously guys, you have to be back really soon," Patsy pleads, "if my mom wakes up…"

"Yeah, sure," Portia tugs the door open, "Make sure Karma has her Pampers on when you tuck her in."

"Don't get an ulcer," her other follower slides it shut, sealing us in.

As we watch the It Girls disappear outside the arc of floodlight there is a moment filled only by snoring behind us. Patsy turns, wild eyes, "I'm so screwed! I'm so totally screwed!" It's my goddamn birthday! And now I'm screwed!"

"You're the one who had to invite Portia," Sadie mutters.

"Thanks!" Patsy spits at her, "thanks a lot, wench!" She storms off, while AshleyTwo chases after her, trying to calm her down.

Sadie and I shake our heads, trying not to laugh at her predicament…she deserved it for calling Sadie a wench…humph.

"Sadie," Karma's voice comes from behind us.

We spin around to see her still facing the black glass, her eyes fixed intently on it, "let's go," she says.

"Duh. We can't," I remind her.

Karma turns, her face hard, "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to Sadie. Wipe that stuff off and let's go meet up with them!"

I look over at Sadie, psyched to see her tell Karma to screw herself. But she doesn't. Karmas tugs off her pj pants and pulls up her jeans and then switches her night shirt for a polo from Old Navy. "Chaz Swartz is going to be there. He's friends with Darius after soccer camp this summer. So come on."

"Why don't you just stay, Karma?" The uncertainty I her voice makes my chest tight. "You know you're mom'll kill you."

"I have to," Karma mutters.

"No you don't. That's only four girls out there. There are like, thirteen still here."

"Thirteen who'll be playing makeup for the rest of seventh grade," Karma's eyes narrow.

"So, why do you have to do everything Portia says?" Sadie finally asks what she's wanted for so long. "She's not even funny or…I mean, she sat here all night making bored faces in the corner. She's just…I don't know. So her mom's a manager at the mall and she gets to wear designer clothes…"

"She's fun. A lot of fun. And I don't want to sit around with a bunch of babies who don't even talk to boys on the phone. So are you coming or not?"

Sadie looks at the floor. "Not," she says softly.

Karma's face turns an ember color, "I hope you two will be really happy together. Be sure not to invite me to the wedding."

"Fuck you," I say, surprising myself.

"Fuck you both." Karma seals the sliding door soundlessly behind her.

Sadie holds my stare, he expression stunned. "Wait," she says. And I ready myself for the moment I have known was coming since the day Sadie told me about Karma: when Karma would realize she'd made the biggest mistake of her life throwing over the best friend a girl could hope for and she'd want Sadie back. The moment Sadie would go. Because they have history. They have lower school. They have learning to read and all sorts of things I will never…."Who am I?"

And she face plants into the nearest sleeping bag. Choosing to stay with me…

"Stop," Sadie mouths sternly, tipping me past the point of being able to contain my laughter.

Overtaken, I slam the receiver back down. "Oh, God, I'm gonna pee," I roll on carpet in the doorway of Sadie's parents' bedroom, where I've stretched their phone cord to its limit.

"Jude!" she moans from the opposite end of the hall, where she's stretched her brother's phone to _its_ limit so that we can see each other for the First Call.

"I'm…I'm sorry," I gasp for air. "I don't know what's so funny."

Sadie sits cross-legged in her sundress as she broods. "Okay, maybe this isn't a good idea, you being able to see me. Maybe I should go inside the door."

"Maybe I shouldn't be on the line at all. I mean, why am I on?"

"So you can tell me what I sounded like. And what he sounded like…like a witness."

"Witness," I nod, before breaking into another fit of giggles.

"You're such a dork; I don't know why I recruited you for this job."

I take a deep breath and sit up, "Okay, I can do this. You can do this. Today we call the boys. Go." I wave at her, putting the phone to my ear, "Dial."

Sadie exhales slowly, pointing sternly at me before dialing Chaz Swartz's number. As the ling rings my heart speeds.

"Hello? Who's on the phone?" Suddenly Mrs. Heller's confused voice breaks in.

"HANG UP!" Sadie drops the phone, shouting down the stairs, "OH MY GOD! MOM! HANG UP!" We both bolt from our posts to meet at the railing, frozen in terror.

"This is Andrea Heller. Who's this? No, I did not call you. Well then _you_ hang up…good-bye."

"I…I…" Sadie becomes zombie like. "My _mother _called Chaz Swartz. Karmas' going to… the entire seventh grade's going to…My mother called Chaz Swartz!"

"Sadie listen," I swivel her face to mine, "Just call him back and say, um, that your mom's really sick and she's just, like, got a really high fever and has been, um, calling random numbers and being, like, delirious." I nod hopefully.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"But how would I know that she'd called him unless I was on the line?" Her bright blue eyes grip me desperation.

I chew my lip. "Say you just came into her room and she was murmuring about calling Chaz Swartz like she murmurs about the other stuff she's doing while she's sick. Come on. Sades, we're losing valuable time here. Just call."

"MOM! DO NOT PICK UP THE PHONE!"

Mrs. Heller appears at the bottom of the stairs. One hand in a yellow rubber glove, she uses the other to re-clip her hair away form her face, "Are you paying the bills around here now?"

Sadie hangs off the banister," Mom, PLEASE, I'm begging, just give us five minutes? PLEASE!"

"Are we calling boys?" She rest her gloved hands on the hip of her pants and stares at us questioningly.

"_Mom_," Sadie moans, a hint of a whine involved as well.

"_Sadie_," she moans right back. "All right, but start your homework, please."

"Okay!" I chime as we each resume our pasts. The second she's out of earshot, Sadie dials. I press my pam into the door frame as it rings.

"Hello," Chaz answers after only two rings.

Sadie freezes at the sound of his voice. I scissor-kick my legs at her to snap her back.

"Chaz?"

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Hey, Um this is Sadie Heller." Her small hands clench the receiver so tightly her knuckles turn white.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so I just called 'cause my mom has this major fever. She's really sick and I don't know, we think it could be malaria because she's just totally sweaty and out of it and…" I kick my legs again. "Anyway she's been doing all sorts of weird stuff because she's, like, delirious. We have to watch her all the time and my brother was supposed to be watching her but he had brand practice so she was alone and she, I think she picked up the phoned and called you and acted crazy. Because of the malaria. I only know because I just walked into the room and she was mumbling something about your name and I thought you know, God, I better call you and let you know that she's just being weird like that because she was sick and dialing random numbers and so….so that's why I called."

"Okay," was Chaz's response, sounding bored.

Out of material, Sadie shrugs at me in desperation. Reminding her to play cool, I toss my hand in exaggerated nonchalance.

"So, uh, what are you up to?" She drops into a slouch.

"Wait, who is this?"

"Sadie. Sadie Heller."

"Your mom didn't call me."

"Oh!" She turns nuclear red. "Oh, okay, then…uh, bye."

"Bye."

Sadie carefully puts the phone down before slumping into the floor. "Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap."

I hang up and run the length of the banister to her, kneeling to pat her head. "Maybe he wont' tell anyone."

She looks at me through her hair, her face beating. "Anyone, like who? Like Darius and the other jocks? Who'll tell Portia so she and her clique can act it out at the next assembly?" She rubs her cheeks with her hands and groans. I am momentarily speechless at the very real possibility.

"Just deny it," I decide.

"What?"

"Deny it. If anyone asks you about calling Rick and saying your mom has malaria just say you don't know what they're talking about. Like, they're the crazy one for asking you."

"I can't say _Chaz Swartz _ made it up," She exhales, "okay, your turn."

"What? Are you nuts!"

"Jude, I did it, you have to do it too."

"Yeah and that went so well."

"Shut up. Get the phone book in the pantry and let's look up Tommy Quincy."

"No." I'll just keep carrying around the fact that I'm supposed to like him because I had said so the year before in gym class. Although, he was very cute, with his pretty green eyes, and his always gelled hair. Hmmm…

"We made a vow!" Sadie sits up on her knees. "A birthday vow!"

"You made a wish when you blew our your candles. Not me. It's not the same thing! Sadie, let's just finish Science. My dad's going to be picking me up soon." I stand.

"Ugh, that' sooo not fair," Sadie pouts.

"What!? Come on," I reach a hand down to help her to her feet.

Glaring at me for a moment, she conceded, "Fine, but next time you're calling Tommy Quincy. First."

I put my sandwich back down on its baggie and tap Sadie's untouched yogurt, my voice lifting over the noise of the packed cafeteria. "No good?"

She points to the wires on her teeth, "This is no good." She slumps forward, pushing her old folks' home lunch away. "I can't believe I got these the same week as…as…"

"Move it, Malaria," Kyle Conchlin bumps Sadie's chair as he slides through tot his table, he blond culrls poking out from his hat.

"As that," she sighs in frustration.

Just then AshleyThree plunks her tray down, the ohm god look on her face silencing the entire table.

"Something the matter?" Sadie asks, refusing to play into her dramatics.

Ashley pauses another beat, until she's sure she has our undivided attention. "Karma. Got a big red stain. On her white pants. In shop!"

We collectively gasp.

"That has to blow you calling Chaz Swartz out of the water."

We all nod in agreement, and, gloom lifted, Sadie returns to tackling her Yoplait. I offer her a slice of apple. "Suck on it."

"Squish it against the roof of your mouth with your tongue," Patsy, the longest brace wearer at the table instructs.

"There she is," Jennifer gestures to the double doors of the cafeteria and we all turn to see if she is still alive…if getting a period staind in a room full of boys, does not, in face, kill you.

Karma is wearing her gym shorts, ah, good move. But still, most every head turns. Despite her bein a colossal bitch, I feel genuinely awful for her. Our eyes meet and I offer a sympathetic smile. She nods. Good for her, she'll just walk through the maze of round tables and sit with the weirdo clique tht took her in when Portia's group was done with her, and ….wait…she isn't walking. She flips her black hair over her should and looks around.

"What's she doing?" Sadie whispers.

We all shrug in response, riveted.

She walks directly to the nearest table and leans down, displaying a stain-free butt to all, as she talks to…the whole lunchroom watches…to Tommy Quincy. He scans the tables and then she points. Points directly at me.

And then…they all turn, the whole cafeteria turns. The whole room looks at me and then back o Tom Quincy, who stand to get a better look. At me.

"Ohmygod!"

"Ohmygod!" Sadie echoes.

"She's telling the boy you like that you like him," AshleyThree shrieks the moment as well all stare at each other, shocked. Then the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch and my life. Motion resumes. But Tommy and his friends stay put. To wait. Because they're by the exit. People continue to blatantly stare as they pass me.

"We'll go together," Sadie stands, grabbing my hand.

"No," I hear myself say, "I have to just…I'm just going to…" And then I'm moving, speed walking rather, pimply faces a blur. I grip my lunch bag and books to my chest and focus on the glowing exit sign over the doors, moving along the waves of stares and whispers. But then I hear, "Hey, Harrison!" and automatically turn in the direction of Wally Bryson's voice, and in the slowest of slow motion, Tommy's face locks on mine, brilliant blue eyes locking staring at me with his head cocked slightly to the side. And then it's loud and fast again as I step into the crowded hallway, continuing on to…where? I look at the doors to the parking lot. Pouring April rain splatters the cement. I could just walk and keep walking. Instead I find myself carried by the tide up the stairs to Social Studies.

"That's her."

"She likes Tom Quincy."

"Jud likes Tom Quincy, want to marry him and have his babies!"

I find myself at my seat and slide my shaking legs under the attached desk. Mrs. Lohr comes in and the overhead flickers on.

"_Jude wants to lick Tommy Quincy's wiener_," someone whispers in the rows behind me. I see the rest of my life at this school playing out as if I'm the love sick loser while Karma gets to stroll in here every day with huge maxi pads suck to her face and no one even notices…. "Lick it, lick it…"

"Mrs. Lohr?"

"Yes, Jude?" She places her coffee mug down and peers through her glass at her lesson plan.

"I'd like to make an announcement," I would? A picture of Alicia Silverstone appears in my head, I feel myself step onto the seat of my orange plastic chair and then onto the desk as if about to correct a rumor campaign whirling around the grand ball. Then I'm tossing my hair back over my shoulders, "Yes, so um, I believe you have all heard that I like Tommy Quincy. I just wanted to put an end to the rumors. Yes, I, Jude Harrison, like Tommy Quincy. So there you go. Now we can all get back to our lives." Okay. I step down, one sketcher at a time.

Mrs. Lohr blinks at me. The class blinks at me. I pull at my T-shirt and retake my seat, noting I have not dropped dead, and not yet sure if this is a good thing.

"No. Way." Sadie's voice lowers.

"What?" I ask, taking a bite out of my sandwich and enjoying the fact that people have finally stopped staring at my like at any moment I might hop on the furniture and announce I like _them._

"Your Tom Quincy is sitting with Darius and those other jocks." Sadie darts her heat at the cafeteria table of top guns a few feet away.

I finish the rest of my sandwich. "Not mine. We've never even said hi."

"He was yours enough to stand on a desk and claim him."

"That's NOT how it was supposed to go in my head. And that was days ago and I'd appreciate if we could all drop it. Besides, don't forget whose scandal of the week I knocked off the charts, Ms. Malaria."

She shrugs, working her way through an apple with slightly more expertise. "I just thought you'd be interested to know that since our big announcement he's been supremely promoted. Your dramatics were apparently an escalator to popular."

"So that's why it feels like I'm being stood on."

We munch as the lunchtime scrams and giggles around us bounce off the walls. Having avoided looking even in his general direction for the past four days, I let my eyes wander casually back toe the rowdiest table. Sure enough, spastic, whistles-to-himself-in-the-halls Tom Quincy sips our of a silver Capri Sun between Kyle Conchlin and Jamie Andrews.

Laura squints while carefully sucking apple skin from her braces. "Doesn't it look like he got a haircut?"

I glance over one more time, using my paper bag as a over. "I guess, yes, he seems more…more something." More in color. Like if Freddie Prince had a younger brother. "I don't know! It's not like I study him or anything. I've just been trying to live him down."

Karma stops in front of our table, pushing open her milk container. The girls around us fall silent, looking from her to me. I take a breath and try Mom's suggestion. "Hey, Karma, why don't you join us?" I smile with as much real kindness as I possibly can, watching with satisfaction as her face clouds in confusion. "Ash, why don't you and Patsy move over a seat so Karma can sit down?"

"I don't…need a seat," she says weakly, and it is awesome to see her so uncertain of herself. "Hey, Jude, don't you like Tommy Quincy anymore?" She pointedly flicks her crumbs off her Abercrombie sweatshirt and I fight a smirk at how flat her preplanned one-liner falls after my Gandhi setup. "Or are you holding out for Sadie?"

"Ugh, screw off, Karma," Sadie says in a tone so indifferent it actually makes Karma shrink away without another word.

I look around the table at everyone waiting anyway for an answer to Karma's question. "Of course I still like Jake Sharpe, okay?"

Sadie clamps her hand on my shoulder, lightly pressing down. "In case you get the urge to reassure the entire cafeteria."

Breaking a smile, I life my bread slices and slap her cheeks.

"Gross!" She pulls back giggling, "Oh so gross, now I'm coated in mayo!"

"Seventeen says it's supposed to be the best moisturizer," AshleyTwo informs as she stand with her lunch tray.

I hand Sadie a napkin. "God, what's the big deal. Everyone likes someone, right?"

Sadie thoughtfully wipes the mayo off of her cheeks, "But no one ever stood on a desk."


	6. Begging is so not my forte

**CHAPTER 5**

**DECEMBER 22, 2019**

Entering into my old room, I'm immediately struck by the chilly and stale air. Then as I walk over the threshold, and notice, in the stark moonlight that, other then a few concessions to accommodating overnight guess, my old room continues surreally as I left it in high school.

Stepping closer to my bed, I drop my bags on the floor and sit on the edge of it and turn on the bedside lamp, illuminating the Jude Museum in all its cluttered and crazy glory. Stunned as always by the heer volume of visual information, I drop onto the comforter to take in the layers and layers AND layers of memorabilia I, some carelessly and some meticulously, assembled, added to, and detracted from all through high school, as if Johnny Depp might suddenly arrive at any moment and need to get the complete picture of my marriage ability solely from these four walls. I stare in wonder and amazement that I was every capable of sleeping soundly amidst the dense collage of objects proclaiming my allegiance to shows now long off the air, a presidential nominee retired, movie stars who have had their fifteen minutes, and rockstars whom I greatly idolized. Then there were all kinds of little trinkets here and there, and yes…yes some beanie babies….

Standing, while memories swarm my mind, I cross to the bookcase and run my fingers over the dusty Cds--Red Hot Chili Peppers pushed out in front of the Britney Spears I never wanted found. Moving to the lower shelf I read labels of unknown bands. I always thought they were the best, with all their raw talent. Tommy really got me into listening to random bands, and know here I am producing at an Indie record label. And look at where Tommy Quincy is…Sell out…

Yeah sure his music is pretty good. And who cares that his voice is unbelievably amazing and makes many a woman shiver and quake when his voice lowers and sings those incredibly illicit lyrics…

But he was still a sell out. It didn't matter that he wasn't pop, sure he was alternative rock, but in my eyes he was no different than those boot shaking boy band groups from back when we were in elementary school. The type of musicians he used to complain to me about having no musical integrity. And yet years down the road, he appears on the cover of every magazine and tabloid with the bleach blonde Barbie at his arm, and doing lame taco bell commercials…turning into everything he ever hated.

At least his music stayed true. At least he wrote his own lyrics. I sigh, knowing that the only reason I know this is true is because of the fact that they are ALL about me and experiences only the two of us shared.

Pulling a random mix from the shelf, I walk over to the dusty CD player, enter the CD and hit play. Music pounds from the speakers and I fumble to lower the volume, smiling as soon as the gentle rock melody registers.

"_One more kiss could be the best thing, or one more lie could be the worse," _I hum along, remembering Sadie's own words of encouragement as we packed The Bag and formed The Plan.

The Plan.

Wondering if Sadie, in all her infinite wisdom, could have foreseen my lost luggage, I drop to my knees and lift the dust ruffle. And there it sits, waiting for me, the orange adidas duffel we stuffed nine years ago with everything I would ever need to Make Him Regret His Entire Existence. I heave it up onto the bed and pull down the zipper, reaching in to pull out a…spaghetti-strapped silk minidress, and then another…and another, each shorter than the next. And then one…two…three…_four_ fistfuls of Victoria's Secret. I reach to the bottom of the bag and take out first one, and then two pairs of plat formed sandals.

I lift the bag up and tip it to the side as I reach in for the last item, preaying for perfectly cut jeans, low V neck cashmere, and a fitted shearling coat; but instead find one very overstuffed makeup kit, which I unzip to discover concealer that has gone---whew! Off, Annnnnnnnnd---this should come in handy---several palettes of Mary Kay eye shadow. And glitter.

I look down at my options, and then out to the darkened ice latticed window, my lips pressed taut, church-giggle tears springing to my eyes. Hitting stop on the DC, I go back to the to pof the stairs and crouch down. "Mom?" I call tentatively.

From the kitchen I can hear the sink running. "Mom?" I call again, reluctant, but desperate.

"You rang?" She appears at the bottom step, and apron protecting her gray cowl-neck sweater, carrot in hand.

Chagrined, I stick the tip of my tongue into the corner of my mouth. "I'm sorry I was an asshole."

"What did the asshole say?" Dad calls from the kitchen.

"I'm sorry!" I shout.

"Tell her she can stay for dinner," he says as the sink shuts off.

She just looks up at me, waiting, and I drop my head against the banister rails, "Okay, so my suitcase is MIA. I've just unhookd the rip cord, and all that's flying out are strappy sandals. Actually strappy everything." Because that bag was packed when he objective was to be a naked disco-ball.

"Uh-huh…" She bites her carrot, unappeased by my humor.

"So…" I lift my eyebrows hopefully.

"So this might take more than twenty minutes," she confirms.

"So," annoyance crack back through. "I might need to borrow the car and see if Sadie'll meet me at the mall."

"You? Leave the house?" she say sin exaggerated disbelief. "You're not going to hide behind drawn drapes, make Sadie come to you?"

"Okay. I have a very logical, informed strategy for navigating this town…"

"Your Belle of Amherst routine?" She waves the carrot in a circle.

"I can go to the mall."

Her brow furrows. "Two days before Christmas. It'll be mobbed."

"So?"

"So, on further thought, I think this may be an appropriate time to continue your logical, informed strategy."

"Mom?"

"Yes?" she replies evenly.

"I am asking to borrow the car and drive to the mall."

"And I'm saying in the twenty four months since you last graced us at the holiday season, driving to the mall has grown into a much bigger endeavor than you think it is."

I take a breath, trying a new tack aimed at the core of her concern. "Okay, Mom, I'll be super fast and back in time to have dinner with you guys. And we're spending the whole week together in Daytona. You'll be sick of my New Year's."

"No, that's fine." Her mouth tenses, despite my effort.

I knock my head against the rails. Thank you, Tom Quincy, I an now actually crouched on my parents' stairs negotiating, _negotiating,_ to borrow the car. "I wasn't even supposed to be here," I moan, rocking back on my heels.

"Well, it's a _pleasure_ to be your obligation," she says with sarcastic cheeriness.

"_Mom_," I sigh, but unable to deny it. "Mom," I say again grasping for some sentiment I can offer to mollify, to connect. But, as always, I'm stymied in a way I never am in Daytona or LA, only here, where the specter of Tommy thins the air between us. And now the prospect of this fresh revisitation is sucking us to a new altitude altogether. I rest my head against my outstretched arm. "Mom" --I reach for her-- "can you drive me to the mall?"

"Say that again." She cocks the carrot by her ear, her eyes drifting closed.

I peer down, smushing my face between the rails. "Can you drive me to the mall? _Please_?"

She smiles, her expression soft as she opens her eyes. "Aah. For a moment…I was thirty-six."


	7. 8th Grade

**CHAPTER 6**

**EIGHTH GRADE 2001-2002**

"_I like to move it move it, I like to move it!"_ I shake my hips from side to side as we speed in a circle around the gym at the September Skate Social. Dancing one wheel in front of the other, I spin about and glide confidently backward until I lock with Sadie's wide eyes. Seeing the bead of sweat on the tip of her nose, I spin around attempting to robot dance and take her hand. Her damp fingers clutch mine as her blond curls jerk back and forth with her geisha steps.

"You're so good at this," she says in tense puffs, clutching my arm with her other hand for additional support.

"First time I've ever NOT hated being in here!" I arc my arm on the beat at the gm walls dotted with halfhearted construction paper leaves and pilgrim hats courtesy of the PTA.

"Help me off so we can talk without being run over?"

Nodding, I guide her through the whirring wall of jeans and sweaters to the unfolded bleachers. "Easy," I help her down.

"Look," AshleyOne nudges her front wheels into my lower back. I follow her pointed finger jutting over my shoulder to where EJ Lee has glided in wearing yet another brand-new designer sweater. "It's insane."

"I wish my dad bought me new shit every time he missed a weekend with me," Patsy says from behind us as she unlaces her skate and taps it against the bleacher, a tiny grain of gravel tumbling out.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"Tip forward to brake: Brake!" I cry as Georgia Bevins comes barreling into us. Sadie and I grab her waist as she rag dolls over our shoulders and into AshleyOne's lap.

"This is bullshit," she gripes as we flip her around to sit between us. "The only person who doesn't look totally retarded out there is you," she accuses me.

"I used to take lessons with my dad when I was little, on ice."

"Why can't we just have dances, like a normal school," Sadie complains, taking out her large hoop earrings.

"Middle school graduation dance in May," AshleyOne quips as she peels off her nail polish. "It's gonna be awesome."

"And the best part is everyone goes with dates. It's a couple thing," AshleyTwo says like she's supposed to be at a couple thing right now and her parents just dropped her off at the wrong gym.

As though the DJ overheard her, the smooth beat of "More Than That" by the Backstreet Boys comes on and half the lights flicker off. I lean into Sadie and make fluttery eyes. She returns with kissy fish lips.

"Girls' choice," the DJ's voice breaks into the song. Everyone looks around the emptying wood floor, charged with held breath.

"You should ask someone," Sadie nudges my shoulder.

"No way, you should," I murmur, watching the It Girls glide carelessly and flawlessly over to their chosen boys, arms outstretched, waiting for their invitations to be accepted. One couple catches my eyes and my stomach instantly drops.

"Holy Crap. That's Portia Mills asking your Tom Quincy," Georgia breathes quietly in my ear as Portia's hand takes his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Not mine," I say automatically. But I don't look away. We're all watching. As a girl, The Girl, just right up and grabs him.

"Sure his parent didn't pay you to move their son up the food chain?" AshleyOne quips, glancing at me.

"There's no way that Tommy wouldn't have eventually made his own way up there," AshleyTwo rolls her eyes, "I mean, have you seen him up close? He is soo hot! He has this total…coolness around him. Whether because of Jude's whole desk thing last year or not, he would've become one of the top guys in school no matter what."

I ignore them and watch the couple of the hour. They round toward our end of the bleachers, slipping in and out of pockets of light and shadow. Tommy, ever so slightly moving his lips along with the song, Portia popping a bubble and sucking it back in, her dark chocolate locks sprayed in a banana clip. As they move past us my eyes are caught by his free hand, thin fingers slightly curved and moving in time with the synthesizer. Wow…he must really be into music.

"Are you jealous," Patsy Sewer sticks her head between Sadie and me, bluntly asking what everyone else is obvious wondering.

"You must be. Portia can be pretty slutty," Karma leans over from where she sits just as Portia releases Tommy to his popular, It, friends. "I'd be jealous."

I try to tap my wheels like I could give a crap, meanwhile allowing myself in the half-darkness to study this boy who has gone from nobody in a Beatles Tee, which I totally dug, to top tier in under a year, which is fine…I mean, whatever. But now to become a couple-thing right in front of me…

The lights flicker back to full wattage as the beginning of "Rock Show" began blasting through the speakers, leaving those left sitting on bleachers relieved the slow song was over. Besides the fact that Blink 182 was a thousand times better than BSB. As if the hearing a whistle blow, the boys blast out of the moving circle, skating where they please, owning the floor, snapping bra straps as they fly past. What would it be like to be so…not caring?

At the rock bridge, Portia awkwardly tries to move her body in a way that looks cool and in beat with the music and just as the boys are about to laugh, Tommy loops around her and smiles. He helps her move fluidly and she smiles at him. Then she grabs the hem of his shirt and trails him to the drinks table.

Yes. It would be amazing to have a boy beside me. Everyone watching as I'm transformed from a desk-scaler into someone enviable, fabulous, free. It would be…

"Well," Karma scowls, obviously still awaiting an answer from me, "Are you?"

I nod. I am…

Sadie tiptoes in her ankle-socks, pivoting side to side under the buzzing lights of The Boston Store dressing room. I automatically do the same, pulling the almost extra foot of bodice stand behind me, struggling to fist it all together where the zipper drapes away from my spine. Dresses are so not my thing. "You don't think it looks like the same dress my cousin wore last year?" she asks, lifting her boobs up in the snug corset.

"Uh, no." I clench the tent of a dress to my sides with my elbow while I zip up the back of her dress. "It's way prettier." I drop my heels and lean against the wall. "Who are we going with that we have to be so tall?"

"Jude?" Dad calls from where's he stuck on the threshold and I hold the dress tightly to myself and follow his voice. "There you are . He steps back into the rack of evening suits crowding the dressing room entrance, holding an armful of V-neck sweaters, corduroys dangling at his elbows and a baby blue dress swinging from his hooked finger. "I found _this_. Any good?"

"I'll give it a whirl."

"Great." He looks me up and down eyeing the dress I currently wear. "Because I know you're fond of large and shapeless, but I think you may be rather taking it to extremes with that one."

"I know, Daddy. It'd headed for the pile of rejects."

"Your mom's going through the sales rack in the men's department. Holler if you need our opinion."

I point at my head, signaling for him to smooth his hair, which has duck fluffed in the mall static. Carrying the blue candidate, I find Sadie flopped on the carpeted pedestal in a pitiful pink pouf.

"Who do you think I should ask?" She asks.

"Jonathon Taylor Thomas?" I grin.

"In school," she completes our routine as I turn sideways, wondering what I'd look like with cleavage.

"You gonna as Jake?"

"Uh, _no_."

"Don't get defensive," she rolls her eyes and lifts her palms. "And your mom's busty…so yours are coming soon."

I crouch on the floor in front of her. "I can't ask Jake. It took forever for all that to die down. Besides, he's always hanging out with the Portia girls. Are you asking Chaz."

Her nose wrinkles.

"So there you go." I stand back up.

"What do you think of Speid?

"Speid, as in Vincent Speiderman? Your lab partner Speid?"

"Yeah," Sadie pulls the scrunchie out of her hair shaking it and running her fingers through it. "I think you guys would look cute together. He's tall and blond. You're blonde and not short."

"Aw." I pat the top of her head, momentarily forgotten, the bodice drops to my waist. My hands fly to my bare chest. "Yeah, both of us and our grandbabies could get in here."

She stands, taking the blue one of its hook and turns me towards my stall. "Try this. I think it'll be really pretty on you. It'll really bring out your eyes. Plus it has halter straps. Which maybe is a good idea."

"So you're admitting I have no boobs."

"I'm saying your boobs would be extra flattered by the halter top of it," she smiles sweetly before shutting my door. "So what about Speid?"

I think about him as I kick off the tent and grab the blue dress, "He's cute I guess."

"_And _funny. And nice."

I step out after I have the dress on and sigh, "I just never really thought about him that way."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Jude, we can't let everyone get boyfriends but us just because of Chaz Swartz and Tommy Quincy. We have to move on." She looks down at the scrunchie now on her wrists, "I'm asking Wally Bryson."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think his green eyes will look good with this pink dress." She lifts her skirt and relays it gracefully around her legs. "So get that dress zippered and lets move on already."

I concentrate every ounce of my energy on the hair that refuses to lie flat with the rest of the sprayed and twisted on my head. I'm about to rip the flyaway right out of my head when the door to the bathroom opens and loud music pours in, followed by Portia Mills.

She pushes into a stall, tugging at the white dress she's wearing. "You're here with Speid, right?" She calls out.

"Yup!" I stop with my hand on the girls' room door, not sure if she's finished talking to me, no wanting to snub the Queen.

"He's cool. He used to live down the street."

"Yeah, yes. He's very nice," I say though is he is not very anything else as far as I can tell. He checked the YES box on a note during Social Studies and here I am with a boy who has, other than smiling shyly, said nothing but, "Please pass the rolls," since 7 p.m. Except when he was with Wally, he was acting very hyper…too hyper and crazy for me really.

The stall swings open and she steps out, adjusting her strapless dress over her infamously large breasts. "Yeah, I'm here with Tom. Oh, crap, you like him, right?" So I'm told. "You don't hate me, do you?" My answer irreverent, she turns to the mirror to reapply her lip gloss. "We're going out now. You know, officially."

I take this like all ten of her fake press on nails have just sunk into my rib cage. "That's great! No, I…that's great."

She pauses for a moment in the mirror, the lip gloss tube poised above her lips, studying me in the reflection. "You're sweet."

"You guys look really good together," I hear myself add. "Well, have fun!"

I shove back into the wailing guitar and walk straight to the drinking fountain. Leaning over, I press my hand against my chest to keep any of the preverts from staring down my dress at my non existent boobs and pretend like I'm getting a drink, but instead just watch the water circle into the drain. So Tommy Quincy has gone all the way to the top. Without so much as a word to me. Jerk.

I release the metal button and straighten, broadening my shoulders so that the whole of the cutout back is exposed, and step around the teachers huddled in the corner to look for Speid among the boys whipping each other into a frenzy with their liberated ties.

Immediately giving up and not really caring, I find Sadie and the other girls who'd given up on the boys, dancing by themselves in a circle. Sadie sees me and tugs me to her and cups my ear.

"Tom Quincy told Wally your dress looks hot!" She pulls back to study my face, holding down both my arms as if I might fly away.

"Seriously?" I scream through the music. She nods emphatically.

"But I just heard he's going out with Portia."

Sadie shrugs. I look over the tan line on her bared shoulder to see Portia return to her gaggle, all of them wearing similar white dresses. As Kyle careens into Portia, she tugs the tie from his hand and flicks him, cleverly pulling her friends into the frenzy. Then Tommy comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her up, her legs bend. She flails, waving the tie like a gymnastic ribbon as her giggling friends join the boys in their roughhousing.

"Dance!" Sadie commands me, jerking my attention away from the scene.

Before I have the chance to turn away, his eyes connect with mine and for a moment everything else seemed to stop around me and I felt my heart speed up. Abruptly a tie is whipped between us and the connection is lost, but I did not forget that fleeting look in his eyes. Also…my dress is hot. I am…hot. I AM HOT! Giddy, I throw my head around with utter abandonment, singing along perfectly to Michelle Branch's "All You Wanted."

"You're really good," I hear from behind me suddenly. I jump slightly at the voice, and turn to find myself for the first time face to face with THE Tommy Quincy.

My eyes widen in shock, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat, "Th…thanks," I squeak, not really believing he's actually speaking to me.

He smiles gently at me, "You're voice, it's different."

"Um, ok," What's that supposed to mean?

Noticing the skepticism, he adds, "In a good way. It's like really good. I've never heard anyone sing like that. I really like it."

I blush not knowing how to respond. I open my mouth to say something…anything…when out of nowhere Portia pops up, grabs Tommy's arm and tugs him in the direction of her friends. I stare aimlessly after them, watching as Tommy was now totally engrossed in Portia, not even bothering to say bye to me. Hmph…

"Juuuuuude," Sadie croons from next to me. I turn to see her smiling widely at me, her eyebrow quirked, "Did I just see Tom Quincy talking to you."

I nod, a bright smile on my face, I felt like walking on air. He thinks I'm hot AND he loves my voice. I continue to dance the night away without a worry in the world, because Tommy Quincy talked to me…life couldn't get better.

Sadie and I descend the hill into town surrounded by the lulling buzz of sunshine-fueled cicadas. given our summer of serial sleep-overs, we're bleary eyed as our sandals scuff the pavement in our unconscious unison. Our sunglasses doing little to cut the glare of the sun, we both squint in the flat noon brightness.

I replay the last few minutes of _She's All That_ in my mind's eye, my chest rising as I imagine what it must be like to dance in the moonlight at poolside while the Hot Guy of Your Dreams kisses you. "Think high school'll be like that?"

"Like what? SHIT!" Sadie's hand goes flying to her purse. "Thought I forgot the video. Sorry, keep going."

"Like, the hot guy you like chases after you to save you from being taken advantage of by his friend, and admits he cares for you, and then kisses you and wants to be with you," I mull as we cut across the schools' football field.

She lifts her ponytail and pats her hand across the back of her damp neck. "Let's just hope we don't have to go through the embarrassment that poor girl in the movie did though. I'm glad most people like us and we talk to most of the class. I'll say a prayer every night if you will."

"Deal." I reach my pinky and she swipes it with hers.

A humid breeze lifts across the vast green. "Oh my God, don't look up," Sadie suddenly whispers into her tank top. I ever-so-slightly follow her not-gaze through the waves of heat rising from the dusty turf to a figure riding a bike slowly while another trots alongside him, bat in hand.

"Who?" I ask, tight mouthed, even though they're halfway across the field.

"_Tommy_," Sadie whispers back.

"Is Portia with him?" I ask, nauseated.

She shakes her head, "Only if she's had a sex-change. It's that new kid, Kwest…the one who moved in across from Patsy from the States…He's from Wisconsin, I think, and he's always wearing that lame Green Bay jersey." We continue our controlled stroll. I pretend to scratch my shoulder and see the bike cut diagonally across the grass.

"Anything in my teeth?" Sadie slightly parts her lips, not breaking the pace.

"No. Me?"

"You're good."

Taking Sadie's cue, I keep my eyes trained on the turf in front of me. Then the front wheel of a red bike comes into my vision, just beneath the horizon of my bangs. It does a lazy circle around us as I watch Tommy's tennis shoes, the tanned muscles of his calves. And then another circle. Long shadows covering our bare legs. Think of something to say…anything…

We walk; Tommy bikes around us in fountain size circles and Kwest, trailing behind, tosses his bat up in the air and catches it, with an _oomph. _Okay, I will concentrate very, very hard on getting her to say something. Say something cool. Something really cool. _Sayitsayitsayit…_

Then the shadow pulls back off my feet. The _oomph_-ing gets quieter.

Turning around, I catch a glimpse of boxers sticking out of basketball shorts as he bikes away, Kwest jogging along, bat held behind his neck.

Sadie tugs my arm before suddenly breaking into a run, her purse flapping wildly. I take off after her, flying across the field. "Why are we running?" I huff, grasping my side.

She stops once we get under the cover of the bleachers and grips her knees, laughing, her ponytail flopped over her face. "I don't know. Why didn't you say anything?" She rights herself and reaches into her shirt to adjust her bra.

"Why didn't you? That was so weird."

We move back into the sunshine, walking the last few blocks in thoughtful silence. As we cross Myrtle Street and climb the steps, Sadie makes her summation, "And in September they are going to show up in our backyards and confess their undying love." She slides the video out of her purse. "I'm so sure."

"He didn't confess his undying love. He just danced with her in the moonlight," I correct her.

"Same difference." She pulls open the door to A-1 Video Rentals, a blast of arctic air hitting our damp faces as the bells indicated our arrival.


	8. Author's Note! Please read

Ok, so it has come to my attention that someone else has started writing a story based off of the same book, which is awesome because the book this story is derived from is absolutely incredible. Just to clear up some confusion though I'd just like everyone to know that the "Dedication" on the website DLS is written by me.."Tiffy" Anywho, I have a chapter just about finished!! It'll be up tomorrow!! Thanks to those who've read!


	9. Mall Rats

**CHAPTER 7**

**DECEMBER 22, 2019**

"Only for you," Mom shakes her head as we inch the car down Main Street, television vans on either side.

"Only for him," I retort as a pack of ski parkas with cameras aloft appear suddenly in the headlights.

She brakes sharply, her right arm automatically extending, pinning me against my seat. "This better NOT be for him."

I smile at the reflex as she returns her hand to the wheel. "I told you, I'm here for me." I gesture to the fogged windows and reporters, "They are not."

"You mean not yet."

I sink down, tucking my nose under her borrowed scarf.

She takes a left out of traffic onto the relative quiet of Myrtle Street. "What happened to A-1 Video?" I inquire as pass the building now wielding a CURVES sign.

"The Blockbuster out by the mall," she says with dismay. "But Anna's done a great job with Curves. I've been going three times a week."

"Mommmm," I smirk, giving her a mittened thumbs up. "Very impressive."

"The secret is earplugs. I can't stand the music they play so I just stuff my ears and then nod and smile at everyone. It's quite pleasant, actually. Now I know why your father always seems so relaxed."

At the mention of dad, I cock my head and study her. "How's he doing with all of this?"

"He's fine," Mom answers lightly.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Well…" She brushes hair from her eyes, "tired, of course, with the move and the holiday, and what not, but I'm fine."

"Really?" I ask again, trying to discern if she's lying just to me or herself as well.

"Yes."

"Your husband suddenly forces you into early retirement from a job you love and you're just fine?"

"YES. I'm fine and you're just running a little errand." I stiffen. Why does everyone have to know me so weell? "So," she lifts her shoulders, "now he wants to write a book in the sunshine and fish. And that's what we're going to do. It was just…really taking a toll on him, it seems. And we have to respect that."

Feeling the muscles around my eyes twist, I dig in my purse for my drops, squeezing the liquid in and blinking as it splashes onto my cheek. "No, of course. He's still on the Zoloft, right?"

She nods to herself, reassuring me as she traverses us through the recently plowing streets, slowing to a halt at each stop sign as she navigates the back way. "It's not like he didn't try at the library. Honestly, the people in this community. They hire you to effect change and then make it impossible."

"Unless you want to put in a Curves."

"Yes, then we welcome you with open flabby arms. You're still having the problem with your eyes?"

"Only when I'm tired. " And stressed. I wipe the condensation off the window and peer through the wet streaks left by the gloves as we emerge into a sprawl of lights. "Wow. The mall has definitely changed…it's sooo…"

"Oversized, gaudy, trumpeting the end of civilization as we know it."

"I was going to say 'much.'"

We haltingly circle the football-stadium size parking lot a few times, a salt-crusted sea of cars stretching out before us over every inch of asphalt. I bite the inside of my lip and look around pointlessly for a spot.

"Screw it," Mom breathes. She pulls onto the snow covered meridian in the lot and takes the keys out of the ignition. I crane my neck and look over the frozen parking lot dreading the long distance we have to go before reaching the entrance in this frigid weather. But she's already heaved her purse onto her shoulder. She gets out, slamming the door closed, and I jog against the wind to reach her and take her arm. She squeezes my mitten with her elbow and we duck our heads down for the trek.

"She said they'd be in the food court!" I shout back as we round the corner of the entrance entering the court filled with hungry people. "There!" I point to where I spot them sharing a burger at the far end table. As we make our way over I watch Sadie laughing at something with her boys and have that momentary pang of awe and jealousy…will I be at the boys' wedding still thinking, "Oh my God, Sadie MADE them?" Or worse, still be the spinster aunt with three hundred god children because everyone took pity on me? I raise my hand and wave; she beams.

"Fairy Jude, my dog threw up! I'm eating a cheeseburger and fries!" Devon stands on his chair to announce these two updates with equal emphasis over the blaring sounds filling the large area. Sadie laughs again, putting down her yogurt as he hurls his forty pounds into my arms. "You're wet." He puts his small hand to my cheek and pulls it away to examine. I return his feet to the chair.

"Victoria wanted us to get some exercise." I wipe the sheen of sleet off with a McDonald's napkin as Mom tears open her coat. Then I lift Damian up in turn, ruffling his bangs with my chin.

He kicks his mini blue moon boots out for me to examine. "Yours are brown."

"Pretty stylin'." Grinning at my borrowed Lands' End ensemble, Sadie stands to engulf us both.

"MOMMY! YOU'RE CRUSHING ME!" Damian wiggles down our legs.

"Jude Harrison standing in the Toronto Mall…and without a fake nose," she laughs in my ear, "look at you being all brave."

"Look at you," I murmur as I pull back, my hands going to her rounded belly, and again, the pang. "You look beautiful."

"Please, minus the braces, I'm having a second puberty. Actually, make that a third. Do you know what It's like to be buying Clearasil at thirty?" She leads Damian back to his seat and licks a napkin to wipe the ring of ketchup from his mouth.

"You're radiant, Sadie," Mom insists, "Pregnancy suits you."

"Well, drink me up 'cause this is my final round." She hands me the tray of wrinkled wrappers, which I carry across the floor and dump in the trash, stopping short as a posse of toddlers runs past. I pull back, narrowly avoiding tripping a laughing mother in hot pursuit. She steadies herself, giving me a once-over.

"Jude?" I'll be taking that fake nose now, please. She stops, blowing her bangs up and allowing the kids to race another lap. "Jude Harrison?" I blink for a moment at the thick dark hair and glowing skin, "Karma?"

"Oh my God, Jude!" To my utter surprise, she lunges, wrapping me in a hug. "This is sooo bizarre." She releases me, smiling with her whole face. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you," I laugh, her enthusiasm contagious. "How are you?"

"This is so crazy," she scoops up one of the lapping boys to her hip. "Grace and I were JUST talking about you in the car on the way over!"

"And is this your son?" I run a finger on the pink cheek of the child squirming in her arms, deflecting us from my auxiliary celebrity status.

"Johnny," she smiles tenderly as she ruffles his hair. "Yeah, I'm meeting Vince here do to family gifts. Our last year." She looks up at me. "We're getting d-i-v-o-r-c-e-d. I'm shredding Speiderman."

"Oh, God, I'm really sorry to hear that," I say, sad our class is already joining the ranks of the didn't-make-its.

"Thank you," she reaches out and touches my shoulder. "But it's for the best for all of us." She shifts Johnny to her other hip.

"You look fantastic though," I admit, smiling warmly.

"THERE you are," Sadie calls, swaying over with Devon balanced on her boots. "Hey you!" she greets Karma as she lifts Devon to the floor, sending him darting back to the table. They exchange a truncated half hug over Johnny and Sadie's pending number three.

"Are you doing the poses at home?" Karma places her palm solidly on Sadie's belly. Not tentatively, the way I do it.

"I try! I do." Sadie grins in embarrassment. "When the boys nap." She turns to me. "Karma teaches prenatal yoga."

"I'm so impressed," I marvel.

She bounces Johnny back to her waist, turning intently to me. "You HAVE to take a class with me. I teach a whole roster at Yoga Is Life up there." She points to the escalators. "Just pass Journeys. You have to come. You'll thank me, seriously."

I nod, "That would be great."

"So your folks are selling the house?"

"Yup," practical stranger who knew before I did. "They're pulling up stakes and heading south."

"Yeah, Grace and I toured it when it was first put on the market. We're looking for a three bedroom. It's a beautiful space, really good positioning. But the energy." She waves her free hand, her face darkening. "Completely congested. And your old room, wow…the whole place needs to be smudged."

I look down to see ketchup smeared on my thumb. Sadie pulls a napkin from her pocket and puts it into my hands. "We've really gotta boogie." She shrugs apologetically.

Karma nods knowingly, "You're here to see him, huh?"

"Him?" I crumple the red-streaked paper, trying to signal to Mom with my pinky at my hip to bring the car around.

"Tom."

"Yup," I exhale.

"Babe." She puts a palm on my trapezius, pushing Mom's coat open to give me a brisk three-stroke swipe. "Let it go! God! Yoga would be so good for you! Your whole aura is starving for it! You have got to take that on when you get home…where do you live?"

"Los Angeles."

"Wow, he really did a number on you."

"No, no." I look to Sadie, my smile faltering. "I just hate living in the cold."

"Cold is a state of mind, babe." She stares squarely, making no motion to let us leave, signaling she is just beginning her list of what my aura is starving for.

I lean over and give her a quick kiss. "Great to see you, Karma."

"I teach tomorrow. Get the schedule from Sadie. Yoga saved my life."

"Definitely!" I wave good-bye. Glancing back I see them making their way to a blond guy waiting at a table with two overstuffed Target bags and my gaze pinballs from the man's beer paunch to the sun-damaged forehead to the utility belt to the duck boots to the _US Weekly_ with Tommy on the cover he's flipping through. I tuck my head down and take Sadie's elbow, darting us out of Speid's visual range. "THAT is why I will only meet you behind closed doors. Everyone here is talking about the pathetic girl who got ditched by the rockstar…which I'm only known as in a forty mile radius of at the Pretzel Time." I point up at the hot-pink sign as we pass.

"Okay, everyone here is talking about their Christmas lists, for starters. And I hate to burst your reclusive bubble, but we are a far-flung group. Right now Peagan Mosely is probably thinking about how pathetic you are as he tends to his hydroponic lettuce in Vancouver. AshleyTwo is taking pity on you all the way down in Philadelphia, and I'm sure when she wakes up tomorrow Georgia will spell out 'Jude is lame' with breadcrumbs for the pigeons in New York's Time Square. Get a grip."

Chastened, I nod. "Hydroponic lettuce? 

"Check out his Facebook."

"Okay, grip gotten. And who's Grace, her guru? 

"Uh, no." We wait as a security golf cart passes, it's orange lights flashing. "Her girlfriend, soon to be life partner. You know it's legal here to wed with the same sex in Canada."

"Shut the fuck up."

Sadie grins widely, "No lie."

"Holy shit! And to think she used say all those things about us."

"I know," she laughs as we approach Mom and Damian playing patty cake. "Okay! Let's do this thing. I want to get the boys in bed by nine."

"Yes, I love you…and I appreciate being included," Mom acknowledges. "But you're right, I can only take about forty-five minutes of this…" she circles her arms at the crazed pre-Christmas masses surrounding us. "Before I expire. Why don't I take the boys to the carousel while you two do your thing." Damian and Devon look rapturously at the garland strewn carousel spinning slowly. "All right, gentleman. I'll take a hand from each of you, please."

She stands and the boys grab her hands, giving in to the magnetic pull of the plaster horses. For a second I feel the sensation of her fingers enclosing mine at that age, the assurance. "Forty-two minutes," she mouths, deftly steering them into the crowd.

"…had a very shiny nose…" My cranium reverberating with cheer, Sadie and I let ourselves be carried along by the shoulder to shoulder madness. Bypassing the chain stores optimistically featuring cotton "resort wear" in their windows, we somehow manage to jostle ourselves to the women's department of Lord and Taylor.

"Does this come with a free bikini wax?" I point at the mannequins sporting waistlines all of an inch above the crotch.

"Try finding a pair that covers your ass when you're pregnant. It's feast or famine. Either your tailbone's sticking out or you're in an army tent. How 'bout these?" She lifts washable suede toward me.

"Uh, no." I flip the hanger around to show her where they lace up. "I'd rather not go as a VJ."

"Didn't you get the memo? We're all supposed to look fourteen now."

"Portia Mills would be so bummed." I flip through midriff-baring sweaters. "She didn't even look fourteen when she was."

"She running the mini-mart out side of town now."

"Shut up!" I spin around and give her a shove. "Shut up! How do I not know this?"

"What?" Sadie smiles, savoring my reaction. "We never go out that way. Kwest had head that way for business and stopped for gas. He said, and I quote, she looks…tired."

"Tired!" I shake my head.

"Tired!" She throws her arms up, her purse sliding up to her shoulder. "Merry Christmas!"

"God, right back at you." We stare blissfully at each other. "Crap, what time is it?" Sadie asks, checking the clock on her cell phone and immediately pivots me forward.

"Twenty-eight minutes, move."

Damp with sweat, I grab anything that looks remotely spectacularly grown up and over you. Sadie throws her own selections on the pile, which is soon higher than my sight line. I follow blindly as she lead us, snaking around circular racks of velveteen and faux fur, to the hallway of dressing rooms. She stops abruptly and I tip forward the pile slipping. She catches it in her arms as we take in the long line of miserable women balancing their heavy coats with their potential purchases and pulling at their turtlenecks.

"This is ridiculous."

"I say drop to your skivvies or we're going to be here all night"

And I do. Soon I find myself in only my underwear, bra and my mother's knee high socks. Sadie, sitting on the makeshift cushion of her down coat, pulls her hair back with her scarf and gives me her vote. "Uh…No." "No." "Nope." "Definitely not!" "EWWW, where in the hell did you find that." "You're kidding right?"

I slump down in front of her and drop my head into my hands. "I've done this all wrong."

Sadie dries her eyes from her laughter at previous clothing choices, "No! No you haven't. But, Jude, come one why do you care sooo much what you're wearing?" She takes a wistful breath. "You've had great boyfriends. I mean, you date fabulous men…"

I snort and roll my eyes. Yeah, sooo fabulous I don't tend to stick with them…

"You have big sex," She pushes the remaining outfits off of her and moves them over to the side.

"Sometimes," I agree but throw out, "You have a husband."

"And he's amazing, but very very tuckered. You've got this amazing career, you meet famous people all the time who are lining up around the block just to work with you. And you get to fly to England in a moment's notice."

"I was in a plane, a hotel, and some cramped little pub trying to sign this band I really wanna produce. I could've been anywhere."

"With framed pictures of Amy Whinehouse?"

"No, probably not…that was cool" I concede.

"See? You've had an adventure," Sadie pulls out a pack of gum and pops it into her mouth, "And the farthest I ever got was visiting you in L.A"

"First off you're not eighty-the farthest I ever got- what's that? You still have a lot of time to travel…and you have a FAMILY!"

She crosses her arms over her protruding belly, "You still have your body."

"Which I work at for the express purpose of some day having what you've already achieved, which is a man who'll pledge to love me when I'm senile and a couple of great kids! Sadie, if I told you, in three hours, you could have a face-off with Chaz Swartz, what would you do?"

Her eyes glaze over and she smirks, "Take out a second mortgage…get Chanel to whip something up for me to drape this and minimize that. Get every square inch, new square inches included, highlighted, waxed, buffed, and polished so I'd look so fucking great that all of mankind would be stopped in their fucking tracks and little Chaz Swartz would have no choice but to regret his entire fucking existenc."

"Right, and all he did was tell the seventh grade you made a phone call," I laugh handing her a rejected sweater.

Sadie's eyes refocuses with renewed resolve. "Okay, let's just try to find you a decent pair of jeans an then get you some makeup. Here," She reaches into the bottom of the pile and tugs out an array of denim. "So what's your plan for the bastard anyhow?"

"What would you say to Chaz?" I inquire going through my jean choices.

"I told you I think he's in prison now, delightfully enough."

"Merry Christmas to you."

"That was last year's present. Ah, Carson Hill, the gift that keeps on giving. But should I ever decide to visit him and address that whole Chlamydia…"

"Malaria," I correct her with a laugh, trying on a pair of cute hip huggers.

"Right malaria. Oh my god, Chlamydia, can you imagine? Anyway, I would purse my perfectly glossed lips and ever so slightly push out my currently humongous cleavage and tell him that was SO NOT COOL!"

"Yes," I turn to show her where the majority of my butt-crack is exposed. "Basically along those lines. There will most definitely be a not very subtle theme of So Not Cool."

Handing me a different pair, Sadie shakes her head, "You don't have an exact plan? Really? We didn't pack any notes or bulet points in that bag?"

"I don't want to talk about that bag and it's been forever since I've given this any serious thought. Thank God. I mean, there was Plan A. We'd hear he'd been spotted singing for quarters on the sidewalk in L.A beside his empty guitar case."

"Sadly, no go."

"Plan B, One-Hit-Wonder. He'd fade into total pathetic obscurity, only resurfacing to appear gray and bloated on WHERE ARE THEY NOW?"

"Plan C," Sadie continues standing to stretch with one hand on her protruding belly and the other supporting her back, "Straight-up over dose. He got to mixed up in Hollywood and fame and entered the dark side. You'd show up at his funeral looking stunning with your gazillions record awards and his mother would tak your hand, look into your eyes, and tell you…"

Pulling on decent pair of jeans I cut her off and finish the sentence for her, "You know, dear, although he had such success, he never knew a minute's true happiness after he left you." And I would squeeze that wicked witch's old hand and respond, "I'm sorry for you loss." And I wouldn't forget to ask, "Was he really found naked in his own feces sucking his thumb?"

Maybe that's a little too much.

"Oh, how I did love Plan C," Sadie didn't seem to think so while she gave me a thumbs up at the pair of jeans I currently had on.

"I believe we made it until Plan Negative Z, involving locking eyes with him across the aisle at your wedding. At the end of the night, I'd meet up with him, I'd be in some sexy little something--apparently that dealt with a lot of…glitter…"

Sadie grimaces and shakes her head, "I STILL don't understand why Kwest thought Tommy would come back for that."

"Because those boys always want to believe the best about Tommy." I sigh and add, "I wish I could still be like that."

Hastily shaking her head, Sadie angrily spats, "Well, trust me, that well's run completely dry. Anyway cut to mad passionate almost.

"Cut to him regretting his entire existence," I pick up her cut, "I get on with my oh so fabulous life. There. That was the plan…the most feasible one anyway."

"And I love those jeans on you. Absolutely fabulous. What top are you gonna wear?"

"There's not one here I'm fond of. There has to be something in that old closet of mine."

"Fantastic, that leaves us with only a few moments to spare to get you the right makeup. You run to get that, and I'll pay for the jeans. Break!"

We both begin to step in opposite directions before I spin back, "Sad…"

She turns, her blue eyes scanning me. All I can manage is a goofy smile as my own are suddenly moist. "I know," her voice softens. "You too."

"You guys have your own rage and anger towards him. I totally understand that. So thanks for putting up with my self pity. All because he abandoned me…oh and wrote some seriously explicit songs about our sex life…"

Her expression darkens, "You know how his label just got bought out by Epic?" I nod, "Well, they've hit us with a cease and desist. They threatened, quote, AGGRESSIVE legal action if we don't drop it. We got the letter Monday. So Merry Fucking Christmas."

"Holy crap. What are you going to do?"

She shakes her head and cradles her belly, "Kwest says we can't afford to keep pouring money into this."

"And you?" My eyes catch the small tremor beneath her hand.

"I sat there in that fucking basement all those years ago," Sadie starts, her face flushing with anger, "I sat there along with you, while my husband wrote the melody for the longest running number one of the 2000's. So I can't let it go. I can't, the second we stop fighting it, it's like we are saying what Tommy did was okay." Closing her eyes, she steadies her breathing. "I can't get upset." My heart going out to her and sympathizing, I gently squeeze her arm and she snaps her eyes open. "So if you can make Rockstar Fuckhead's night even a little less oh so fabulous it will be a total success as far as I'm concerned. Okay?" I nod, a small smile flicking across my face. "But not looking like that."

"Right," I laugh, running a hand through my long hair, "I love you. You know that right?

Once again her face flushes, but this time in embarrassment and Sadie smiles shyly, "Geez! Okay, I have way too many hormones for this right now!" Laughing loudly she adds, "But I love you too! Now Go!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

"I mean it." She shoos her hands at me, indicating I better get a move on it. "You're kicking his ass for all 6 of us."


End file.
